


within and without

by incandescent (lmeden)



Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011)
Genre: Drabbles, Gen, Tumblr fics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 05:34:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/606355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lmeden/pseuds/incandescent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki dreams things that have never been, and can never be. It's a pity that he can't seem to escape his dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	within and without

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote all of these drabbles for some kind of tumblr meme. I was lured in by the idea of writing a Mistltoe fic for Loki, and then just ran with it. The original list of prompts is [here](http://calciseptinefic.tumblr.com/post/37008763121/youve-heard-of-the-25-days-of-christmas). Then, since they all featured the same Loki, I decided to make them into one long fic. I put them in chronological order for this posting. Some are connected, and others very singular. I loved writing all about Loki, though. And, in fair warning, the way the prompts inspired me is not always obvious. You can ask if you'd like.

_22\. Jingle Bells/Sleigh Bells_

The bells seemed to sing a sad song, which drew Loki deep into dreams. He knew enough of seidr to know that this was not the work of magic, and so allowed himself to surrender. 

He finds himself on a blank plain, white and everlasting. He turns, and finds that it extends in all directions around him, featureless and dull and capped by a black sky above. The sound of the bells is swallowed by the emptiness. 

A hand on Loki’s shoulder prompts him to turn and he looks up, staring into the face of a giant standing beside him. The creature is twice his size or more, with skin of a rich color that Loki has never seen before and a fiercely lined face. 

“Who are you?” Loki asks it. 

The creature turns bright red eyes upon Loki and tells him exactly who it is, yet Loki forgets its words almost as soon as they are spoken. He knows, though, that he can trust this creature.

“Oh,” he says, and looks down. The white ground beneath his feet is snow, it seems, white and soft and very cold. He glances back up at the giant. 

“Why am I here?” he asks. 

The giant speaks, words fluid and deep, and though Loki does not remember a word, he feels as if he learns much. Loki looks around, at landscape that grows more featured by the moment. There, in the distance, are the spires of a city. That darkness to the side is not the night sky but rather a forest. He laughs with delight and points these things out to the giant. It smiles and laughs in response, its mouth full of the most unusual teeth. 

“Those places are all yours, my son,” the giant says, and this time Loki remembers. “As they are mine, they shall be yours. And under your rule, they shall flourish.”

A smile has barely touched Loki face when the giant’s grip tightens and Loki feels himself fading. 

He opened his eyes, squinting into the candlelight, and scowled at Thor. His brother was leaning over him, far too close, and shaking him violently. Loki batted his brother’s hands away and propped himself up. 

“What?” he exclaimed exasperatedly. 

“Finally! I thought you would never wake! Father has something to show us in the vaults, and I _know_ you’ve been scheming to get down there for weeks.”

Loki shoved Thor back and threw himself out of bed. He’d been wanting to see the vault _forever_. And now, Father wanted to show it to them? His heart felt like it would stop from excitement. 

He threw a tunic on and then turned and seized Thor. “Come _on_!” he cried. “We’ll be late!”

Loki dragged Thor out the door, his dream forgotten and the feeling of loss that it had left behind vanished.

 

-

 

_3\. Snow_

It stuck in Thor’s hair and tickled the tip of his nose, making him wrinkle it and snort in an effort to keep from sneezing. Loki laughed at him and picked up another handful of snow, tossing it at his brother. Thor batted at the loose fluff, completely ineffectual. 

“Boys,” their father’s deep voice rumbled. “You are much too old for this. Show some decorum.”

Loki drew himself up, almost as tall as Odin and proud of it. “Father, it’s our first visit to Jotunheim. We must at least have _some_ fun.”

Odin’s brows lifted and, after a moment, he nodded to his younger son. “I suppose. But do try to recall that Asgard’s peace with the Jotun is tenuous. If you must explore, try not to upset the natives.”

Loki grinned widely and lunged forward, grasping Thor’s wrist and yanking him towards him. “Let’s go, then! Come, brother, we have permission for mischief!”

He dragged Thor across the bluff, through the drifting snows, and Odin’s soft call of, “You do not!” dwindled behind them. Loki knew he would not dare to shout too loud; he had other ways of watching to ensure they kept in line. 

“Loki, Loki,” Thor was saying, trying to pull back and away. Loki’s grip was firm, though, and even his brother could not break it. 

“Loki!” Thor finally cried, pulling to a halt. Loki rounded on him, scowling. 

“Honestly, Thor,” Loki spat. “I would have thought you would welcome the chance for an adventure.”

Thor gaped at him. “You know this is no mere adventure! This is _Jotunheim_! We are not supposed to be here, even with father. If we’re caught, the Jotun will _kill_ us.”

Loki smiled and stepped close to Thor, patting his breastplate. “Does the mighty Thor worry about fighting a mere _Jotun_?”

“It is not myself I worry about,” Thor said. The soft snow drifted down from the sky, catching on his eyelashes as he watched Loki. 

Loki snarled and turning away, casting his gaze vainly across the sky in search of stars. “Damn you,” he whispered, and then strode away. He would forget about Thor; he would never worry about Thor again. 

Thor had no right to worry about _him_.

A dark shape swooped across the sky above them and Loki plucked a dagger from nothing, sent it speeding after his father’s raven. It missed completely, but that was not the point. 

Thor’s steps crunched in the snow behind Loki, and Loki kept walking until his breath was ragged and the ground had turned rocky. There he stumbled to a halt. He let himself rest upon one of the stones and looked across the wastes. 

Jotunheim was nothing to be proud of, Loki thought. If this was his world, he would run away immediately in search of more interesting places. There was nothing but snow before his gaze; lumpy snow, and darkness. He turned away from it and back towards Thor, letting his anger go. 

There was nothing here to make mischief with; no fun to be had. But there was always his brother. 

Loki leaned back on his hands and stretched his legs. “Tired yet?” he inquired innocently, then savored the glare that Thor sent back his way. Loki’s breath fogged the air between them as Thor staggered to a stop and lowered himself onto the stone next to Loki. 

“I have never understood,” Thor panted. “Why you cannot simply let things be.”

The snows had stopped leaving nothing but silence and the soft shifting of snow to grace the air. Loki couldn’t help but fill it with an answer. “Because otherwise I would be _bored_.”

Thor laughed, a raucous sound that sent his head back and a grin splitting his face. He turned to look at Loki, eyes bright and shining, and Loki couldn’t help but laugh in turn. 

“But you are _always_ bored,” Thor said. 

Loki smiled. “True enough.”

He looked back out over the plains. Perhaps silence was not so bad, when filled with laughter. It would take some getting used to, and the snows _were_ rather drear, but Loki believed he might be interested in visiting this world again. He let his shoulder rest against Thor’s. 

Movement, from the corner of his eye. Loki’s breath caught in his throat and he was on his feet in an instant, daggers in his hands. His aim might be shite, but if the rising shadow was any indication of this creature’s size, then it would be hard to miss. 

Thor was on his feet beside Loki, Mjolnir out and ready. 

“What do you see?” Thor asked, his voice trailing off on the last word as he, too, saw.

The creature moved closer, revealing a slim form and long arms. It snarled at them. 

“Monster,” Thor breathed. 

“Jotun,” Loki corrected. He could see the sheen of an ice-weapon upon its arm. 

They stood no chance against a Jotun warrior. Loki had seen Thor in the circle, and knew the limits of Thor’s abilities. For that matter, he knew the limits of his own skills. He might be able to distract the Jotun, but no more. Their father had only brought them to this part of Jotunheim because it was isolated; no Jotun were supposed to _be_ here. The thoughts flashed through Loki’s head, confused and jumbled, dominated by one over all:

Odin would come to save them; because of that, Asgard would go to far. 

He had been a _fool_.

“Come!” Loki shouted. In one hundred years, they might win against this warrior. More likely in two hundred years. But not now. He will not compound stupidity by staying. 

He grabbed Thor’s arm and pulled him around as the Jotun swung, sending them both tumbling to the ground. Thor gasped, then got his feet beneath him. He grasped Loki and lunged forward, dragging him across the slippery, snowy slope. 

The Jotun behind them cried in rage, and Loki’s shouts turned to wild laughter.

_9\. Ice skating_

They kept running until the ground turned to ice beneath the snow and Thor’s feet slid out from under him. He yelped and pulled Loki with him. Powder flew up around them as they skidded across the ice. Loki choked on his laughter. 

Thor’s flailing arms smacked him across the mouth and his teeth clacked. Loki cursed and let his tumble roll him to his feet, pressing at his lips. His feet slid under him, but he didn’t fall. Carefully, he steadied himself and turned to look for Thor. 

Gone. Still skidding across half of Jotunheim, most likely. The image brought a smile to his lips, and he winced. Damn; now, he had to go looking for his idiot brother. 

He glanced back towards whence they had come, but the Jotun that had been chasing them had vanished. Lost, most probably. They’d run a rather haphazard path, after all. It could not hurt to be safe, though. Loki cast a small spell to carry his voice straight to Thor’s hear. It wouldn’t do to have anyone, or anything, else hearing it.

“Thor,” he whispered. “Where are you?” He felt the spell take hold and carry his voice across the ice-bound lake to Thor’s ears, but heard nothing in response. All was silent, as if a tomb. 

Something disquieting began to swell within Loki. “Damn it all, Thor, talk to me. Where did you go?” He carefully stepped through the snow, testing each step before he pressed his foot down. 

He went five steps before something hit his side and carried him down. He choked on the snow and hissed as his shoulder hit the ice beneath hard. Kicking, he shoved the creature that had attacked him and discovered that, _of course_ , it was Thor. 

“Don’t _touch_ me,” Loki snarled. 

Thor was laughing, a wide grin split his face and his eyes sparkled even in the darkness. 

“But, brother, you called out so sweetly! Here I am,” he laughed. 

Loki scowled at him, then shot a kick towards his face. He really was beginning to feel abominably cold, sitting on the ice like this. Thor nimbly dodged and grasped Loki, hauling him up and to his feet. 

“Father must be worried about us,” Thor said. “And only you can find the Bifrost site, I think.”

It was true enough. Thor would wander Jotunheim for years, if left to himself. Pressed up against Thor’s chest as he was, Loki was warming quickly, and to an uncomfortable degree. He pushed his hands between them and shoved away. 

“And why should I show you anything?” he asked, spreading his hands to gesture at the empty word around them. “I could just leave you here to find your own way.”

Thor’s frown was eloquently confused. “You are my brother.”

Loki sighed. Thor might be his brother, but that seemed to be the only thing they had in common. As usual, he’d completely missed Loki’s point. 

Loki turned and walked away, careful on the ice. 

“Well,” he called back over his shoulder, whistling softly. “Come, then.”

He smiled as he heard Thor following, his steps soft pads on the ice, obedient as any dog in Asgard.

_19\. Santa_

Loki found their father with his eyes closed; he always had. 

So, despite the snow that obscured their path and muffled their calls in the air, it took Loki only an hour to find the Bifrost site once more and their father standing still upon it, waiting. 

Thor stumbled ahead, panting and grinning. “Father!” he cried. “Such adventures we have had!”

Odin’s lone eye had been closed, and at Thor’s words it cracked open. He looked up, dislodging snow that had gathered on the shoulders of his armor. As he shifted, flakes fell from the blade of Gungnir, where they had been resting, and Loki knew that the spear needed sharpening. 

“Not adventures, really,” Loki drawled. “We did do a lot of running, though. Sometimes I think Thor is frightened of his own shadow.”

With a roar, Thor rounded on him and Loki threw up his hands. It had been a long day and he was exhausted. Thor should learn how to take a joke. 

“Heimdall,” their father intoned, without preamble, and Loki knew that he must be annoyed with them. “Send the Bifrost.”

Loki sighed. He _had_ rather been hoping to avoid another lecture. Odin’s eye fixed upon him, then, and Loki hid his resentment. His father’s eye was bright and blue, and saw almost all. Loki liked to pretend that it did not see his thoughts. 

The Bifrost came then, a spiral of white light like a star, and carried them off, cutting all sight from him. 

 

-

 

_2\. Hot Chocolate_

The taste of the chili was barely hidden by the rich drink; it burned Loki’s lips and the tip of his tongue, but he did not stop drinking. He pulled the carven mug away and stared down speculatively at the drink. 

“I told you, did I not,” said Thor, breaking into Loki’s thoughts, “that Midgard holds pleasures beyond those of other worlds?”

Loki looked up and scowled at his brother. “Yes,” he said. “You did. At great length. Yet you failed to inform me that the natives of Midgard are insignificatnly small and petty, or that they do not speak our language or worship us as is proper.” Loki stepped forward and raised his mug. “Yes, Thor, you failed to mention all of that, but you were quite right: this drink the Midgardians call chocolate is quite good.” 

Thor blinked, obviously startled. He shifted awkwardly, and the loincloth he was wearing in foolish imitation of the natives shifted with him. Loki glanced away. 

So he was unprepared when Thor reached out and pulled him close. His brother’s bare side pressed against him, and Loki was grateful for the first time that claustrophobically hot day that he had kept his full armor and leathers on. 

“Ah, brother,” Thor sighed. “I am truly glad you came with me. Only you, of all my friends, can appreciate the pleasures of this world.”

Loki sighed heavily. There was a compliment buried in there somewhere, beneath the slow wit and animal-like fondness. Thor, as usual, had managed to miss his point entirely. Loki took another sip of the chocolate; it was hot and sweet and fiery on the tip of his tongue, and it gave him the strength to smile at Thor. He was afraid it came out as more of a grimace. 

At least, he thought, the chili in this confection might burn the eyes if he ever felt the need to throw it. Maybe he’d try it on Thor. He eyed his brother sidelong. 

Then the cheers rose from below, wild and raucous, and Loki pulled away from Thor, stepping forward and under the stone lintel. He peered downwards. Ah yes, there it was. 

Loki lifted his mug and sipped at the chocolate once more as the priest below raised his sacrifice’s heart. The blood glinted like rubies under the rich sunlight. Loki smiled.

“How barbaric,” Thor said, and stepped up next to him. Together, they watched. 

 

-

 

_5\. Christmas Tree_

The forests of Jotunheim were legendary, in that no one Loki had spoken to knew for sure that they existed; the Jotun had only heard of them, and the author of the books he’d read had never seen those immense trees themselves, and recorded secondhand accounts at best. 

So when Loki stumbled across them one day, feeling particularly lonely and bitter, he knew that there had to be something special about this forest. 

The trees were immense; the leaves thin, dark, and heavy with snow. Each rose so high that its peak vanished into the darkness of Jotunheim’s sky. Loki stood in the outside the edge of the trees and stared up, snow gathering around his feet. 

They were beautiful: completely wild and free. Yet they were so lonely, surrounded on all sides by kin and unable to communicate with them. They were only trees, after all. 

A sharp smile twisted Loki’s lips. He would remember this forest, and consider it as a punishment for Thor. A few centuries as a tree could not hurt him – for once, he might actually _learn_ something. 

One day, he thought. One day. 

He turned and walked away, and the trees of legend vanished into the darkness behind him, silent to the last.

 

-

 

_7\. Pie_

Only rarely did Asgard see snow. The moisture in the atmosphere tended to stay there, making every day and night thick and cloying – at least, that was how Loki understood it, though he’d never made a great study of atmospheric phenomena. When he’d been a child, he had thought that the closeness of the air had been magic crowding close to him, overwhelming his senses and touching everyone in the land. He knew better, now. 

But that didn’t mean that snow seemed any less magical. 

The air was clear; free of the humidity that made every movement more difficult. For once, Loki felt as if he was flying without changing shape. He stood upon his balcony and felt the crystal flakes touch the tips of his ears and nose. He closed his eyes and smiled.

Below, the laughter of Asgardians echoed through the city, wild as if it came from mere children. 

The door to Loki’s room slid open. He cocked his head to better catch the sound, listening to familiar footsteps across his smooth floor. He turned back to the city, watching the golden spires shine dully under the clouded sky. 

“I’ve brought you something,” Thor said from behind Loki, and reached over his shoulder, holding something steaming. 

Loki flinched back, because it was really far too close to his face, and squinted at the object. A meat pie, it looked, hot enough to turn the flakes that landed upon it to water instantly. Loki turned and looked at Thor. 

“Do you expect me to eat that?” he asked, already knowing the answer. 

Thor looked astonished. “Of course! It’s fresh from the kitchens and will warm you on this terrible cold day.”

“You’re such a child, Thor. It’s barely cold out at all. This snow will not even stick to the ground, but melt away and vanish. Do not act as if we are on Jotunheim.”

Thor’s open expression turned to a scowl. “You always poke fun at me, brother. Well, one day you will know that folly of it. I only try to do you kindness with this gift.”

Loki felt his brow rise. Did Thor really think he needed a pie from the kitchens to lift his spirits? How foolish; Thor always thought that the things he desired were what all else wanted as well. 

Loki sighed. It could do no harm to humor his brother. The snow had put him in a good mood. He reached out and took the small pie, cupping it in his hands. 

Thor smiled. “Better,” he said. “You will be glad for it, I promise.” He lifted another pie up and sniffed it, closing his eyes in happiness. “Shall we eat them here, then? In the snow.”

A smile graced Loki’s face, the second of the day, and vastly more amused than the first. “Of course,” he replied. “There is nothing like the irony of opposites to make a moment memorable.”

“What?” Thor said, visibly stranded by Loki’s thread of thought.

Loki took a great bite of the pie, the flavor of the meat and vegetables bursting in his mouth. It was rather good. He wiped the gravy from his chin and chewed. Swallowed. “Aren’t you going to have any?” he asked Thor, managing around the burn on his tongue. 

Thor glared, never one to be shown up, and showed his entire pie into his mouth. He chewed fiercely, mouth working comically, and Loki laughed. 

The sound echoed through the spires of Asgard, bouncing back to him, and he dropped the rest of his pie to splatter on the ground as he clutched his stomach and doubled over, unable to stop his laughter. 

 

-

 

_6\. Angel_

There was a tension in the air, the feeling that someone, somewhere, was holding his breath. Loki didn’t know what it was; perhaps a symptom of the delusions that had overcome him as he’d fallen.

The stillness of the fall had been wrenched from him; the shock of the landing was just working its way from his system.

Loki couldn’t move. His cheek pressed against the sharp rocks of the terrain he’d landed upon, and his lungs were still gasping in an effort to acclimate to the foreign air. The world was a sharp divide of black and grey – half sky and half earth. His fingers fisted in the dirt and his side screamed, fiery with every attempted breath. He’d broken something, broken many things. 

The tension in the air changed, unfolded into something infinitely more complex, and Loki struggled to gather himself and move as he realized that it was not so much some _thing_ , as some _one_. 

Around him was only silence. Toes tinged grey with dust touched the earth within reaching distance. The whistle of wind and nothingness that had hallmarked the fall faded to a quietude that Loki found vaguely disturbing. This being did not make a sound, not even in the crunch of toes upon the gravel. 

It stepped closer to Loki, yet he could not move. The weight of this world’s gravity was heavy, and he was broken besides. All he managed was a pain-filled sigh. 

“There you are, my shooting star,” murmured a voice from above Loki. 

He could not muster his magic, could do nothing but cast his eyes vainly upwards. There was nothing to see but the toes before him, and all he could feel was the mental pressure of a being too immense to contain itself in a single body. 

The creature stooped, crouching, and soft gray robes touched the ground. It reached out and grasped Loki’s neck with a cool hand, turning his face upwards. The face the greeted him was smooth, kind, and male. It seemed utterly unremarkable, yet Loki could feel the lie in that assumption. 

The movement drew a whine from Loki as bones grated against one another. 

“So delicate,” it mused, lips moving, but the expression on its face utterly still. Even Loki, a practiced liar, found it unnerving. 

Loki managed to lift his hand with a wrench. It barely moved, shaking, and he gasped as his vision wavered and the creature holding him vanished into darkness for a moment. 

Its brow rose in the barest expression of surprise. “You still live. When I saw you falling through space, you flashed bright in my vision. You were wild; furious with life, and I could not resist you. I had thought you dead when I saw you lying here. You are very much broken, you know.” The creature said it all as if it did not care one bit about whether Loki heard or understood him. 

_I do know_ , Loki hissed in his mind, despising the fact that he could not make himself understood. His very breaths stuttered in his chest. _Go away._

He didn’t know what this being was, but if it was only here to taunt Loki, then Loki wished it would go. 

“My shooting star,” it repeated, lips curving upwards into the barest of smiles. “Your strength is impressive. I shall give you a gift, in return for providing me with such distraction.”

With that, the creature bent and pressed its lips to Loki’s forehead. Loki dug his heels in and pushed, felt the muscles in his legs press around broken bones and his back scream with pain as it arched. He held in the gasp, this time, but could not get away. 

The being drew back, and Loki felt no different for the press of its dry lips against his forehead. His hand managed to flutter up and touch the skin, but he could feel nothing; he was utterly numb. 

With that, Loki was let go, and he slid out the being’s grasp. With ease, it rose to stand above Loki, filling his vision. 

“Do not waste my boon,” it said, and inside, Loki screamed at it. 

Then the being unfolded, came apart, disassembled into nothingness and air, and was gone. Loki gasped, his breath coming easier, but no less painfully. 

With an effort, Loki was able to roll slightly and get his hand underneath him. He lay there, waiting for the pain to end. It didn’t. He closed his eyes to block out the blank landscape. 

The tension had gone from the air; the creature’s presence was gone as if it had never been. Loki didn’t know what it had been, or what it had given him; he thought, in a corner of his mind, that it had likely been a delusion of a fevered mind, something his subconscious had conjured as a respite from the pain.

It moved through him, flowing with the beat of his heart, and left Loki unable to move. He fisted his hand in the dirt and forced himself up. The pain was unimaginable, and he bit back a scream. 

Somehow, as he always had, he found the strength to keep silent. 

 

-

 

_10\. Frost_

_It should be so easy_ , Loki thought; he should be able to conjure ice from his fingertips, but he could not manage so much as a creeping of frost. He frowned at his hands. They didn’t even feel cold.

Where was his power? Where was his heritage?

He flicked his fingers, testing, and a witchlight sprung to their tips without a thought. He dropped his hand and vanished it. His seidr still worked. The skills he had fought to claim worked perfectly well.

It was his power as a Jotun that failed. Ever since discovering that he was Jotun-born, Loki had half expected that, were he to try, he could conjure an ice-blade like he’d seen other Jotun form. Yet he couldn’t even seem to put a chill in the air. 

He sighed and raked his fingers through his hair, pushing it out of his face. 

It was typical, he mused, that he could not even claim that which should have been his by right. He turned his eyes to the stars above. He would have to fight, it seemed. As he always did.

 

-

 

_11\. Eggnog_

“Brother, such a feast we shall have!” Thor cried, shoving the doors to Loki’s rooms open. Loki trailed behind his brother, scowling beneath the gag at the state of things; dust everywhere, and the gold of his walls tarnished. 

“I shall invite the entire court to celebrate your return,” Thor continued. “I know that Father has been eager for your return – almost so much as I.”

Loki up, then, and raised his brow at Thor. It was beyond him, how Thor could believe the words he spoke. 

Thor’s smile turned to ashes. He stepped towards Loki and seized his arms before Loki could move away. Loki felt the warriors assigned to guard him draw closer, but Thor ignored them.

“I know that you hate me,” he said, voice quiet. “That you hate father and mother and Asgard and all of this.”

 _Lies,_ Loki’s mind whispered. None of that was true; well, some of it was, but not _all_. Loki hated that Thor found it so easy to assume. 

“This will be a feast to welcome you home. I know you do not welcome it, or feel that you deserve it, but I promise that you do. We are all glad to see you,” Thor said, his tone pleading Loki to see his side of things to be happy _for Thor_.

He was always so sweet, so concerned about Loki’s feeling. What a lie. 

Loki slapped him despite the handcuffs and smiled as Thor rocked back. His guards dragged him away an instant later.

_Too slow._

_12\. Cider_

He eyed the bubbling drink over the fire, glad that both his nose and mouth were covered by the gag; it would have been sheer _torture_ to have to smell the cider of Idunn’s apples and not be able to drink of it. 

“Loki,” came from behind him, tone low and testing. 

Loki turned slowly. Ah, the Lady Sif. The first of those at Thor’s _grand feast_ to dare speak with him. He nodded slowly, the tilt of his head mockingly caught between the respect one would give a fellow warrior and the deference due to a lady of standing. 

Her mouth twisted, recognizing the slight. “I was going to ask for your side of this… tale,” she said, gesturing widely. “But I suppose that would be futile.”

Loki nodded again, sending her a look of distaste. 

“I’ll have to settle, I suppose,” Sif began, “for restitution.”

With that, she flung her hand forward and threw her entire mug of steaming cider at Loki. He dodged to the side, missing most of the drink, but it still splattered up the lefthand side of his tunic, the heat of it searing through the layers of fabric. He turned on her, hands itching to be free of his cuffs so that he might seize her, throw her to the floor and throttle her. 

He’d never taken advantage of that ability when they’d sparred, years before; now he regretted the lapse. 

“That’ll do,” she sneered. “To start.” She walked away, vanishing into the crowd within seconds. 

Loki glanced back at the boiling cauldron of cider in the fireplace. Why not upend it with magic? Why not send the scalding drink pouring over the feet of those who had come here to mock him?

He almost lifted his hands to shape seidr, then stopped. It would be foolish to spend his hand so early in the evening, and without Thor nearby to witness it. 

He cast his scowl out at the crowd. Later, he swore. Later.

_13\. Peppermint_

The soft press of a hand on his shoulder broke into Loki’s musings and he whirled. _Mother_ , his mind whispered before he could stop it. 

Frigga was beautiful, tall, and statuesque. Loki stared at her, entranced once more by how she shone gold in the light of Asgard. 

_Oh, how he had missed her_.

“My son,” she whispered, and stepped forward to enfold him in an embrace. Loki stiffened but allowed the gesture. He could not resist her touch, which was warm and comforting, even after everything. He let his eyes slide halfway shut and focused on the sensation of her. 

A few strands of hair had slipped free from her delicate coiffure and tickled his brow, and Loki knew from memory that she smelled softly sweet, of mint. His hands, trapped between them and chained, knotted together. If only he could embrace her in turn, show her that she, of all of them, was still loved. 

He closed his eyes fully and let his forehead rest on her shoulder – surrendering, for the moment, to her touch.

_14\. Gingerbread_

_This_ , however, was not an embrace he had wished for. Loki wheezed for breath as Volstagg lifted him bodily from the ground. He tried to open his mouth to protest, then gave up on the effort as the gag tugged his lips shut.

His mother smiled up at him, fondness warring with sardonic amusement in her expression. 

“I knew that Thor would bring you back!” Volstagg boomed. “Now he will not mope around the palace so much. He may even come hunting again!”

The man let Loki go and he stumbled back, glaring. If Thor had ceased hunting after Loki fell, then all the better – Loki knew just hunt much Thor loved his hunts. Though he was sure that Thor had been mourning the loss of his mistress, not the fall of Loki.

“Ah, do not cast such looks at me,” Volstagg said, grinning. Then he bowed low, catching Loki utterly by surprise. “It is good to have you back, my Prince.”

Loki nodded out of habit and Volstagg turned away, making for the tables and the food piled high upon them. 

He cast a glance around. Had anyone else seen that?

His mother stepped forward and touched his wrist. “You shall always be a prince,” she whispered into his ear. “Never forget it.”

She stepped back and away, and Loki felt suddenly bereft. 

_Yes,_ he thought. _Always a prince. But never King._

_15\. Presents_

Hogun emerged from the crowd. Loki, who had been watching the crowd narrowly and counting the ways in which he could ruin this feast with well-placed words, cast his gaze away, unwilling to speak with the man. 

But it seemed that Hogun did not want conversation. He stopped a few feet away from him and folded his hands in his in front of him, a mockery of Loki’s own chained clasp.

Loki lifted his chin and cast a sour look in Hogun’s direction. If the man was not going to saw anything, Loki would be very pleased if he would _leave_. Of course, this message did not seem to get through to the man. Nothing did. He used his silence as a shield, as if those who held their words close were spared the necessity of comprehending what others said to him.

He had always been that way; it _infuriated_ Loki.

Hogun ran his gaze over Loki. His mouth twisted into a half-sneer, and then he looked away. As if Loki was nothing worth considering.

Loki seethed and clenched his fingers around a powerful seidr indeed.

_16\. Fireplace_

As the guests finally settled for the feast, Loki spied a space left on the benches – wide enough for several stout warriors, but undoubtedly reserved for him. 

There were several reasons that Loki knew that the seat was intended to be his. Firstly, not one of the Asgardians seated at the tables was looking towards that it, as if that particular seat did not truly exist. Secondly, those sitting closest to that place had frozen, uncomfortable expressions on their faces. And thirdly, that was the seat was closest to the fireplace, where even the strongest Asgardian would feel an incompatible and searing heat. As for Loki, with his Jotun blood, he could only imagine that it would intolerable. 

He glanced up and away from the spot. Ah, Odin was watching. His single blue eye was keen and piercing, and Loki remember the days when he had sought to spark pleasure in that gaze, live up to its expectations.

All he felt when he looked into it now was contempt. 

With the greatest possible grace, Loki walked to the seat and settled himself down, aware of the startling lack of conversation around him. What a shame that he had to wear this gag – he was sure that he could have made the feast much more interesting if only he could speak.

_17\. Stockings/socks_

Loki felt his guards close behind him as he sat, unable to eat or drink, yet unwillingly to abandon this feast just yet. Surely, there was some joy to be gleaned from this travesty, some mischief he could put into motion.

Laughter echoed across the hall above the murmur of conversation. It was wild and high, and Loki knew exactly who it belonged to. Fandral. Who, of all the Warriors Three, had not come to see him. Loki wasn’t sure why he was surprised. 

It wasn’t as if Loki had any particular attachment to Fandral – indeed, he loathed the man most out of all Thor’s acquaintances. Where Volstagg was friendly in a gruff and unwelcome way, Sif fierce in a way that was both annoying and impressive at once, and Hogun kept his own counsel close to the point of farce, Fandral was a fop of the worst sort. 

Loki could see the sheen of the man’s silk shirt from where he was sitting. It was half unlaced, and as Fandral laughed, his head tilted back to expose the clean line of his throat. Loki watched as several well-born ladies cast sidelong glances in Fandral’s direction. He was far too attractive to be liked. Loki knew for a fact that the man could not pass a mirror without pausing to check his appearance in it. 

He had thought that Fandral would come, if only to lord his own superiority over Loki. After all, he was not simply more loved than the former prince – now, even Fandral was more highly respected than Loki. 

Well, he could do something about that. 

With a twitch of his fingers, Loki shaped a simple seidr and let it free, relieved at last to be able to wreak _some_ revenge. Across the hall, Fandral’s laughter turned to a shriek as his wonderful silk shirt was sliced clean open by an invisible blade – one which scratched a thin line down the man’s chest as well. 

Loki kept his eyes down on the roll he was busy murdering, sending it to joins its fellows on the floor at his feet. He glanced up just enough to catch a glimpse of blood marring Fandral’s chest. 

He was glad, for once, that the gag was firmly in place.

It hid his smile. 

_18\. Cookies (milk)_

Loki had begun to despair that this feast would be a true loss. He had looked forward – were he to be honest – to an evening of quiet and research into the subject of how to remove this gag and the technology that chained him. 

Yet the feast had proven marginally enjoyable. Soon, they would suspect that he had injured Fandral, if they did not already. They would take him away, then. At last, he would have the quiet evening he had wished for.

Until then, he was forced to entertain himself. 

Loki let the last of the bread he held fall to the floor and looked up. What else was there to destroy?

Ah, that fowl was a ripe candidate for spoiling. But it was mostly eaten, and forcing meat to rot would bring Loki no joy if no one actually ate it. Or, oh, that jug of mead would sour easily. But that was too easy a mark. No, Loki needed something more intriguing. Something more subtle. 

He cast his gaze up and down the long table, cataloging the meats and fruits and breads. There were other things, as well – goblets and plates, knives and platters, even bowls filled with greenery and which were meant, Loki could only assume, to be decorative.

He leaned close to the one closest to him. It was filled with evergreen and pine, brown cones and red berries, and sprigs of a spindly plant with small green leaves. Loki reached out and plucked one such sprig with his hands. 

What was it? He turned the branch gently over in his lap, curious. Then it came to him; of course, it was mistletoe. 

Loki stroked the small leaves, then grabbed them and one by one plucked them from the wood. He felt his guards nearby, sensed their disinterest. Good. There was nothing that Loki could get up to with a piece of greenery, after all. 

He shaped a simple seidr in his mind. And cautiously began sharpening the sprig to and dangerous point. 

_1\. Mistletoe_

Slim, the carven sprig was warm in his palms, soaked with the heat of his ire and hatred. Loki turned it over once more to check that there was no flaw. All was well. 

Even he could not have known that this would be the answer, that this stick, which was barely nothing, would prove to be the solution to his desires. How strange, that. Over time, though, Loki had come to recognize that life rarely gave him what he expected. 

He would have smiled, but the gag held his lips still, and he was forced to hold his feelings within as he looked up from his lap and over the long table. 

There, near Thor, were the Warriors Three. Loki could barely see them over the victuals, piled high as they were and causing the wooden frame of the table to arc downwards slightly under their weight. Loki, of course, could not eat; this did not slow the appetites of those around him, and Loki suspected that the sight of him chained and gagged calmed the nerves of many. 

That too, tempted him to smile. 

Loki glanced back down to the carven sprig resting in his palms and considered it. It was curved, and so thin that Loki would have doubted its strength had he not tested it himself. He knew it was perfect for slipping through the chinks of a warrior’s armor, and small enough to conceal within his bound grasp. 

All he had to do now was decide who best to use it upon.

Thor looked up and caught Loki’s gaze; he wrenched it away and looked out the windows, towards the stars beyond. Would that he was still wandering them; would that he was _free_.

The mistletoe warmed in his grasp, and as Loki’s guards seized him under the arms and lifted him, he turned his palms over to hide it. His chains chimed as he moved. Loki looked up, curious to see who would dare come to greet him – the guards would not disturb him, otherwise. 

Ah, Baldr. Of course. 

It could only be he, the fool. His long strides swiftly bridged the distance between them and he sat easily onto the bench near where Loki had been sitting – fortunately for him, the others had left plenty of space between Loki and themselves.

“Let him go,” Baldr said. “I would speak with my brother.”

Loki felt the guards release him reluctantly, and though he was loathe to do so, he lowered himself back into his seat. Baldr leaned close, pale eyes wide and mouth guileless. 

“Big brother,” he whispered. “I miss you. We haven’t seen each other since you left, and though I know you’ve done terrible things, I’m so glad you’re home.” The words tumbled from Baldr in a rush. Loki raised an eyebrow. Ah, how lovely it must be to be so young. 

Baldr lifted a hand, encouraged by Loki’s silence. He placed it upon Loki’s cheek in a gesture obviously learned from Thor and sighed heavily. “If only I could remove the gag. I think that, if you could speak, we’d all feel like fools for treating you thus.”

Well, that was true enough, Loki thought. The mistletoe in his grasp itched for a home. 

“I love you so,” Baldr said, and grasped Loki close. 

A slight answering emotion rose within Loki. How _galling_. Bound as he was, Loki could do naught but remain still. Baldr face nestled into his neck, damp with tears. Around them, everyone stared, shocked by the royal son’s closeness with the traitor. 

That would do.

Loki lifted the mistletoe from his lap and turned his face, pressing his cheek as close to Baldr as possible. He shoved the sprig upward. It bent sharply as he forced it through the small opening in Baldr’s armor, but held strong. He closed his eyes as Baldr stiffened slightly, as the muscles in his necked jumped. He felt the warm softness of blood seeping out upon his hands and smiled. 

Baldr shuddered, breaths turning ragged. How fortuitous; Loki’s blind stroke had found the heart. 

Thor would never have come so close; indeed, he never had. 

Loki eyed his own older brother as his eyes clouded with worry and he began to frown. Let him have another moment, Loki thought. Another instant of ignorance. 

He lifted his hand to caress Baldr’s cheek and then showed him back, limp onto the ground. 

 

-

 

_23\. Carols_

Loki could not speak, eat, or drink. Even his magics were limited by the gag, as some seidr which would have been particularly useful to him needed speech to be shaped, and so remained out of his reach as long as he wore the device. 

Yet, none of this meant that Loki was caged. 

He had been given a goblet filled with wine. Presumably, whichever servant had fetched it for him had been too stupid, or too terrified, to realize how spectacularly useless it was to him. 

For once, Loki was glad of the incompetence. 

The glass sat upon the table next to his bed, wine gleaming ruby in the firelight, and Loki considered it for a time before rolling towards it. He reached out, fingers splayed, and paused. 

He must find just the right spot. Carefully, he turned the goblet by the stem, examining the curvature of the glass with a sharp eye. Then, he picked it up and dashed some of the wine out of it before placing it down once more. 

There; just there. 

He flicked the glass, and the goblet rung, a chime that spread through his chambers. Quickly, Loki reached out and caught the sound, twisting it around his fingers and drawing it down towards himself. 

He felt the gag tremble as the sound wound itself tighter, grew closer. The inner workings of its mechanisms did not like the seidr. 

Loki did not hesitate. He closed his eyes and quickly brought the tips of his fingers to the joins of the gag, felt them scream and twist, and then wrench themselves apart. The sound faded and the gag fell into his grasp. Far too easy.

He lay back on his sheets and smiled, a broad twist of the lips. 

“Ah,” he sighed. “Now, who should I visit first?”

The question fell on dead silence, but the answer pleased Loki nonetheless. With a gesture, he vanished from the bed, from the sight of Heimdall and Asgard, and from the grasp of all who would cage him. 

 

-

 

_4\. Candy Canes_

The thing about Loki was that you never knew when to expect him – and it certainly wasn’t when you were tweaking the CAD for your suit _in your private lab_ , candy cane absentmindedly hanging from the corner of your mouth and parts scattered all around you. But there Loki was. 

Tony shoved out of his seat and reached out, activating the arm of his suit; it expanded, crawling up his arm to the elbow, warm and tight against his muscles. The blaster warmed up with a whine, glowing white, and Loki stopped moving, his teeth bared in what was either a grin or snarl. With Loki, Tony was never sure – and he didn’t like to assume. 

“Stop right there,” Tony said around the mouthful of candy cane. He couldn’t spare the other hand to remove the damn thing. The sharp point jabbed at his tongue. “Why are you here?”

Loki’s expression definitely turned into a smile. “Do I need a reason?” he asked, tilting his head in a gesture of curiosity. The man – god, rather, though Tony had a whole _boatload_ of issues with that idea – was like a bird, strangely enough. 

“Generally, you have one,” Tony said, stalling for time. He backed away, towards the worktable. Loki followed, but kept the distance between then, his gaze unnerving and sharp. Tony needed a wrench or spare part – anything metal that he could throw to distract Loki, at least for a second. 

“I mean, you’ve gone to the trouble of breaking into my lab – and subtly, may I add. Any special reason for the visit? I would have bought a bottle of vodka, if I’d known.”

Loki’s grin turned sideways, into a grimace. “I should hope you would honor me with higher quality spirits, if you knew I was coming,” he said. “Can you not believe that I wished only to see your face?”

 _Finally_ , Tony thought, and closed his hand on the wrench. “No, frankly—“ he began, and Loki lunged. 

Tony brought his thruster around, but not quite fast enough (and thank _someone_ that Loki didn’t have that spear), because Loki ducked under his arm, shoved it upwards and sent the blast from the suit upward, and snatched the candy cane from Tony’s lips. He gripped it tight and brought it down, sharp end first, thrusting it straight through Tony’s unarmored hand. The sugar shattered as it hit the table, and Tony shrieked.

Loki came up well within Tony’s personal space – and that was _not okay_ , so Tony gathered himself and sent another blast directly at his face. It missed, but only because Loki was forced to spin around on his heels and away. He came up laughing and Tony backed away, clutching his hand tight to his chest. He didn’t want to look; didn’t want to know damage had been done by _a candy cane_. He was never eating another one of them again, that was for sure. 

“Don’t know why you’re laughing,” he said, proud when he voice came out even. He forced himself upright. “Joke’s on you.”

Tony nodded at the glass wall behind Loki, which was spider-webbed with cracks and flashing red at the edges, set off by Tony’s blast. Loki whirled, saw the alarm, and turned back with a frown on his face. 

“I don’t care why you came,” Tony said, “but you’re not going to want to be here when Pepper sees that wall. I plan to blame you for everything.” Even _Tony_ didn’t want to be here when Pepper arrived.

Loki sneered. “I should have expected that you would be controlled by a woman. We shall speak another time, then.” He turned away, and Tony wasn’t sure what happened, but suddenly Loki wasn’t there and Tony couldn’t remember the moment he’d left. He thought back, but his mind skipped it, as if it was too horrible to bear. He frowned at the empty space where Loki had been, then shuddered as a ripple of pain washed through his body. 

Oh, _ow_. He blinked back tears and heard Pepper’s worried voice call his name from beyond the glass. Tony forced himself upright and moving, to find some way to open the broken door. 

Lucky bastard, able to vanish like that. 

 

-

 

_24\. Chestnuts_

Her hair spread over the pillow as she slept – it was dark brown, the color of roasted chestnuts, and brought long-lost memories back to Loki. He reached out a long fingered hand and considered seizing her by that long hair, pulling her up and out of sleep. 

He had, after all, promised Thor that he would pay his mortal lover a visit. He had not meant for it to take so long, but circumstances had interfered. 

He was here now, and that was all that mattered. 

It would bring Loki much pleasure to take this girl up in his arms, terrify her with his presence, and take her as far from Thor as was possible. He was sure it would take his brother _weeks_ to get over the loss. Yet where would Loki keep her?

At the moment, all Loki could think of was the tediousness of the entire affair. Why should he take this Midgardian girl, when there were so many more interesting things that he could be doing?

So he sighed and straightened, then vanished. And Jane Foster never knew that he had ever been there. 

 

-

 

_8\. Tinsel_

In his dreams, he stood in a dark land, where the night sky sparkled with stars above him and the land absorbed their light below. He glanced down at his feet. The darkness of the ground was so absorbing that he felt caught by it, sucked in, and it took Loki a moment to remind himself that he was standing firm. 

He looked up and his gaze found a cairn of pale stones a short distance away, lumped and piled haphazardly. There was nothing else in sight, so he walked towards it. 

It was not a cairn after all, he found. It was a well, old and abandoned, and the water inside had risen so high that it nearly overflowed the lip of the rough stone wall that surrounded it. Carefully, Loki rested his hands on the wall and leaned forward. 

The water shone, paler than it should be, reflecting the light of a thousand stars and more, and Loki saw his face in the center. He blinked, and his reflection blinked as well. Yet he knew that he could not be seeing himself; not really. 

The reflection’s hair was grey, silver threads shining in it, and longer than Loki liked. His face was weathered and lean, creased with age, and only one eye stared back at him. The other was not missing, quite, but whenever Loki sought after it, he found that it was missing. 

It was not he reflected, but _Odin_.

“What is this?” he asked, but his words fell into dead silence. 

Loki shoved away from the stone wall and whirled. “What is this?” He shouted the question into the distance, but none replied and the words died before they could echo back. He turned back to the water. It rippled as the stones shifted under his grasp. 

The face that was not his stared back – and yet, whose face could it be? Though he had thought of Odin at once, the single eye remaining was his own, the thin lips bespoke years of lying, and the forehead – well, that could be no one else’s. How could this be? How could he have aged so badly? How had he lost an eye? And how was he seeing this vision?

Loki was not a seer and never had been. Something else was at work here, and if the power did not come from Loki himself, he was disinclined to trust it. He dashed his hand through the reflection, shattering it. 

Warmth rose through his fingers, up into his arm. It stung as if he’d sunk his hand into a vat of acid and Loki hissed, backing away from the well. What _was_ this place, and why did he see it in his dreams?

He cast his gaze over the well, searching for a mark – anything that might tell him where he was. It took him a moment, but soon he found a set of dull runes that had been etched into the stones ages ago. 

_Mimir_ , they whispered to Loki, and he shuddered. 

The Well of Mimir, damn it all. He would have given much to leave this cursed place. His father worshipped here, and for that alone, he would flee. This was Odin’s fault. Odin had drawn him here; trapped him here. Odin was the one sending visions to trick him, as always. 

Loki cursed and strode away from the well, out into the darkness. 

The waters were said to offer visions, but Loki knew better. The goblet of Mimir was filled with only curses and death, and he wanted no part of it. 

He walked and walked, until even his thoughts were tired, and didn’t once notice the burn of a half-forgotten kiss upon his forehead. 

_20\. Sled_

He awoke with a clatter of emotion, content and surprised and horrified all at once, and not knowing what to do with a single one of these things. Loki took a deep breath and forced himself to stop for a moment, to try to think. 

It seemed impossible, at first. All that came to his mind’s eye was his dream, the vision he had had of himself wearing the appearance of Odin. Where had the dream come from? Who had sent it? Was Odin meddling once again? Loki raised his hands and shaped a seidr. It lingered, having the scent of a just-rotten orange, before dispelling and whispering what it has gleamed in his ear. 

Nothing. There had been no outward influence upon him; the dream had been Loki’s own. 

He leaned forward and buried his face in his hands, pulling his feet close. What did it mean? Surely it was a not a prophecy?

The thought sent a shudder through Loki and he cursed. No matter what the dream _was_ , there could only be what Loki would allow that dream to be. 

And he was determined that it meant _nothing_.

He flung the sheets back and stood violently. Let the day begin. 

He forced a grin to his face.

 

-

 

_21\. Snowman_

“Why?” Thor asked, as Loki knelt before him. 

It was not a willing submission. Stark had a metallic grip of Loki’s right arm and Rogers an inhuman grasp of his left, and together they had managed to force Loki to his knees, his face towards the ground. Thor had taken the extra precaution of placing Mjolnir on top of Loki’s crown, taking enough of its weight in his grip to prevent it from crushing Loki, but no more. 

Loki felt his vertebrae creak and groan as they were forced together. He flicked his gaze up to Thor and sneered. 

“If you do not know by now,” he hissed, “you never shall.”

“You have destroyed cities and tried to kill me. You have killed our brother and ruined _everything_ ,” Thor said, stepping close. His voice trembled only marginally. “I know that you are angry, but that cannot be all. You must tell me _why_.”

Loki allowed him close – too close, so that he felt the heat of Thor pressing close – and shifted so that he might better whisper in Thor’s ear. 

“You already know,” he said. “It is because I am a monster. I am blinded to love and kindness by my birth, and I desire only destruction.”

His hands, though drawn far apart, were more than equal to the task of seidr, and with his last works Loki released the spell he had shaped and threw Stark and Rogers away from him. Thor brought the weight of Mjolnir down as he flinched away, but at a strange angle, and Loki slipped out from under it. 

The hammer split the earth. 

“Come then,” Loki whispered, his voice laced with seidr that would carry it to Thor’s ears no matter how far they were parted. 

“Kill me.”

 

-

 

_25\. Christmas Music/Movies_

In his dreams, Loki had a family. Sometimes they were Asgardian, tall and golden and proud, and they loved him more than the entire world. At other times, they were Jotun, tall and blue and proud, and they raised him to be the strongest king of all. And, just once, they were Midgardian, and Loki felt the joy of simplicity, of being small and dull and happy. (It was quite alarming.)

In his dreams, it was never enough. Loki wanted more than love, more than strength; he wanted solitude and stillness and freedom, and these were things that no family could fetch for him. 

Once, he killed his dream family. In another dream, he left them. Most of the time, they simply faded behind Loki as he walked away, strong and pleased with himself and his accomplishments. 

These dreams made Loki sick, once he’d woken from them. He felt weak and inadequate, and as if he had lost something. When he’d been a child, he’d cried; now he liked to shatter every light bulb in a ten mile radius. It did not help. 

In his dreams, Loki was not Loki; he was someone else, someone who was not alone and who would never be truly alone. Loki woke unto the silence that gathered around him - the perpetual darkness, solitude, and misery - and refused to grieve. 

He had chosen this fate, after all. Simply by letting go.


End file.
